Why So Serious?
by le-vrai-visqueux
Summary: I thought I was done. Boy was I wrong. But why is he after me? Of everyone in Gotham, he had to choose me. Joker/OC Rated for language, violence and themes
1. No Rest For the Wicked

It was nice to be out of the service, even if it was only temporary. Even if you'd handed in you resignation you'd always be considered for a job. It was just how the CIA worked. Of course, the downside of resigning from the CIA was the constant check ups. I knew they were having me followed; I had spotted him on several occasions. Tall, white male, brown hair, brown eyes, average uptown Gotham-ite. So far, I had played along allowing him to follow me inconspicuously, but today I drew the line. It was time for the follower to be the followed.

Losing him had been easy enough. It seemed they always applied the newbie to follow the veteran. Why, don't ask me, but it just was. A quick series of turns and blending into the right crowd (a group of obsessed Bruce Wayne fans screaming and pushing to get a better view) and I was gone. Now I was glancing at a store window, watching him from the reflection as he passed me by, my plain red hair covered by psychedelic hot pink and black very temporary die and my blue eyes covered with mud brown contacts. The key to becoming completely unrecognizable to a tail is to become the exact opposite of yourself, in my case, a scene teenager. Tugging at my oversized black jacket, courtesy of my roommate, Gina, I began following him again.

Following him had become relatively uneventful. Frantically, the man had traced to my favorite hang outs, the small bakery I had taken a job at (where I stopped to buy a bagel and leave a large tip for Gina), and even to my little apartment. As he had come up empty handed (no duh) he began heading back, not dejectedly, as I would have assumed, but down right terrified.

When we entered the Narrows was when I started getting iffy. I had tailed several people and unless they lived in the backstreets, the CIA never placed me in the backstreets. But, as the dutiful spy I am at heart, I followed him. After about ten minutes of walking with him he stopped and grabbed a bus, thank God ((my feet were beginning to throb by this point, the converse that I hadn't worn since high school were beginning to take their toll)! Carefully placing myself a few people behind him I got on the bus and sat up front. It was on the opposite end of the bus, so he wouldn't get too suspicious if he wasn't a trained agent (which I was beginning to suspect he wasn't. He made too many mistakes, even for a newbie) and I would be able to see him getting off the bus.

I pulled a Harry Potter book out of my bag, another addition so he wouldn't see my face too obviously. Each time I would turn a page I resisted the overwhelming urge to read it and counted to a hundred. I think I had counted to a hundred a hundred times before the man go off of the bus. Again, I counted to a hundred before placing my book away and standing up, now acting anxious to get off, like a normal person would when on a bus in the Narrows.

He walked for a good ten minutes (God, would he ever stop walking?) before he entered into what looked like an abandoned hotel. "The Desmarais" the sign read, but I walked by it, planning on sneaking in after counting to a hundred for the thousandth time today. It wasn't until I heard the familiar beeping of a security alarm that I freaked out. Quickly diving behind a trash can, I waited until he had opened the door and slid my hand in the door. Now I counted to hundred, praying silently he had at least turned a corner, before opening the door and slipping in. Whoever this man was he was definitely not a spy. A spy wouldn't have just let the door swing closed. A spy would've shut it quick and hard.

There were voices, somewhere. All I needed to do was to find out where they were coming from. Tiptoeing, I turned a corner, praying no one came around a corner quickly. There was no denying now, this place was a hotel. The main lobby was huge, a beautiful brown marble flooring which, sadly, echoed my every footstep. Behind the dark oak counter was a beautiful red and yellow stain glass window. I felt myself drawn to the antiquity of it all. If I had spared the time to look, beneath the counter were old fashioned room keys, each with little room numbers attached them. As I walked by the cream colored couch, I ran my fingers along it, the familiar rough material that was standard issue for every lobby scratching my fingers. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I ran ahead.

As I followed the voiced down a hall, I again was reminded that I was in an old hotel. The doors lacked the familiar card slots, but had key holes. The flooring was a dark greenish brown paisley carpet, another common element in hotels. I began running, trusting the plush carpet to cover my footsteps. I turned, the voices echoing from up the emergency stairs, made of wood as I quickly found out. How old exactly was this hotel? I'd have to see if there was a date anywhere on the front when I got out . . . _if_ I got out. Deciding it better to slid down the railing, I raced down quickly, reaching a tall door that I could clearly hear the voices behind.

"You . . . . ah, you _lost_ her?" the voice was high, nasally; each word carefully chosen to incite fear. Dear God, I knew that voice. Who in Gotham didn't? It wasn't like he was afraid to publish it on TV.

"I-I'm s-s-s-s-sorry, b-b-bo-boss. Th-there wasn't – wasn't any-anything I-I cou-could – I could do!"

"Ah, let me . . . think. You, ah, _you could_ have actually DONE YOU F_CKING JOB!!!" he roared. Why wasn't I running? The most powerful criminal in the world had sent a tail on me, and I was sitting here calmly waiting for him to walk out. Well, not calmly . . . actually, I was frozen with fear.

"I-I'm sor –"

"Why so serious, _Buddy_?" At least I got to know my tails name before he died. Thouggh I doubted it was his real name. There was no reply. "ANSWER ME!" I heard a scream that was quickly cut off. The picture was easy enough for me to form in my mind. The dark crimson splattering across the basement; blood gurgling out of his mouth, possibly even a red bubble forming at his mouth as he tried to breath one last time. It was really sickening. The onlye good thing that came from it is it gave me the sense to leg it to the door.

I had barely made it to the next landing when the door burst open and their was the Joker in full get up. "Look what we have here?"


	2. Run, Girl, Run!

**A/N: Hey! I am continuing the story! Yay! *does weird little dance*. K, concrit is always appreciated. Flame me, I will burn you alive (I have ways). If you have an issue with something I wrote in the story, at least sign it and don't just tell me it sucks. **

**abby- ,Madness is me: here's the next chapter and thanks a billion for the support! rosewhip889: thank you, I try xD (recognize the title? You gave me inspiration xD). **

**Thanks to everyone else who faved and/or pur my story on alert. There's still time. You see that button right down there. Yes I like the middle one a lot, but go a little to your left, yep! Click!**

**And Here. We. Go!!!!!**

Last time: "I had barely made it to the next landing when the door burst open and there was the Joker in full get up. "Look what we have here?""

I didn't even spare the Joker a glance, just kept on sprinting up the stairs. One by one, was there really this many stairs? Oh, crap! What floor had I entered on? Crap! None of the doors were marked. It had to be the ground floor, but how many f_cking basements were there? Sh_t, I had only resigned a month ago and I was already losing touch . . . when it actually counted. Not that the other times hadn't counted, but I was being told to do those. I had gotten my _ss in this situation and I had completely blanked on a major item. "You can, ah . . . you can run, but you can't hide!" the madman shouted gleefully from a few floors beneath me. My feet were screaming at me to stop but I kept going, finally deciding to dare a door. I let out a sigh of relief when I was met with the familiarity of "Conference Room 10", "Conference Room 9" and so on, on the little bronze plaques hanging on the doors. But I didn't have time to revel in the relief, as there was a madman chasing me down. Just running was my main frame of mind. And the Joker was right behind me.

The huge lobby seemed to have grown by ten. The antiquity of the room no longer fascinated me; in fact, I doubted I'd be able to stand in a vintage room. I sprinted across the marble flooring, shoving a Jacobean stand out of my way, the porcelain lamp resting on it shattering in the process.

I pushed my way through the double doors, ignoring the alarm that must have gone off somewhere in the building. Hell, the Joker already knew I was here, why should I care if one of his lackies knew? The Joker hadn't stopped his barrage of taunts and sneers, each one angrier than the last, but I ignored them. Listening to someone speak had always slowed me down, and that was something I didn't need. As I turned the corner I saw a man getting out of his car. He seemed nice enough, but did I care? Ha! Don't make me laugh. Without thinking, I shoved my foot in the door and slammed his head into the hood of the car, instantly knocking him out. Poor man didn't even know what hit him. Now, moving along.

Ignoring the dark red spatters of blood and the long smear down the car, I bent down, searching both his pockets for his keys, finally finding them in his left one. I shoved the key in the slot, wiggling it around a little bit, before realizing I was using the wrong key. What was a man with two cars doing in the Narrows? God, f_ck this. I shoved my elbow into the glass. Wincing slightly at the pain.

"There you are!" My eyes were saucers as whipped around to face the Joker. Hands shaking, I reached into the car, searching for the lock. The Joker took each step tauntingly slow; Stretching out my torture increasing my fear. It was a mental torture device I knew well, even used a couple times during interrogation. It was interesting to have my own ploy used on me.

I literally threw myself into the car, slamming it shut, only to be stopped by a brown boot in my way. In the last few moments the Joker had run at top speed toward the car; another tactic I'd used several times. Did this f_cker know me in a past life? That would explain why he was interested in me. God knows I have about a two million price on my head for all the plans I've f_cked up. With my heel I began digging his foot out, my hands pulling at the door like it was my lifeline, which – in a way – it was. Finally the door shut and I began messing with the keys. As I began to move my hand to put the key in the ignition, a firm gloved hand closed over my elbow. "Now, ah . . where do _you _think you're going?" Mistake number two of the night. God, I'm stupid.

Ignoring his almost painful grip on my arm, I pushed the key in with my left hand, and slammed the car into reverse, effectively dragging the Joker with me. Even if the man was a psychopath, he had the good sense to let go. "This ain't over, toots!"


	3. Just One Second

**A/N: Out of curiousity, does anyone actually read these? K, this chapter's been done since tuesday, but I've been running around so I haven't been able to update. K, in reply to reviews: ****Abby- - thanks, and don't feel bad for him; discworldgirl22- thanks, sorry this chapter is definately not as long as you would want, but it was written before I recieved your review and the place it ended was just too perfect. Thanks to everyone else who faved my story and/or put it on alert, it makes me smile. Sorry this chapter is so short and it probably came out really weird, I just didn't want to bore you with every detail of her life.**

"This ain't over, toots!" Those words still echoed in my head, even though it had been a week ago. For the first few days I had wondered why he hadn't gone after me. But then wasn't it obvious? He had had me tailed for over a month. He knew where I worked, lived, and even hung out. Hell, he probably knew what books I had overdue at the library (titles of which would be very embarrassing if I were to share them). Knowing this I had reverted to my old ways. Each morning I would wake up, examine my cell phone to see if anything that shouldn't be there was there (i.e. bugs, new SIM card, et cetera, et cetera), see if anything is out of place from the night before down to a spec of dust (if dust was missing I'd turn to Gina, who would reply with "Stop being paranoid, I dusted last night!"), check the whole room for bugs, take a quick shower, run to work (never took a taxi), run back home, check for bugs again, sit and watch the news. I had cancelled all my bank accounts, keeping the checks I earned for work and such in a box under the bed. My credit card had begun collecting dust. Hell knows what kind of connections that guy's got.

The pink and black had washed out, quite reluctantly, from my hair. I doubt the black would ever come out fully, as there were still random black streaks in my hair . . . maybe I could have Gina re-dye my hair . . . maybe blonde . . ooh! Brunette! Ok, focus, Tory, focus. There's a murdering psychopath on my tail and I'm concerned about my hair? Well, I guess we all need our girly moments.

Gina was reclined across the couch, her hair hot pink hair falling in her face and her nose in a book. Sometimes I wonder how that woman had become my best friend. And then I remember the word "Anime".

"Tory! You can stop pacing the living room! We have more firearms in this house than Al Qaida! We are safe! Hell, we could take down Al Qaida with all this sh_t!"

"No, Al Qaida has more. I've seen it." I paused for only a second to dismiss her sarcasm, and then continued my frantic pacing.

"It was a joke, Tory, loosen up!"

"Gina, do you understand the half of what's happening?" I whipped around, my long thick braid hitting the window with a thump.

"The Joker's after you, yes. I understand perfectly. But you're going to go gray early if you keep stressing out like this. You've done all you can to protect us, now we've just gotta let it unfold." Throughout her monologue my frown grew more and more pronounced. Did she even hear what she was saying? The Joker was waiting for me to let my guard down for one second. In that one second, I was dead or worse, his latest news cast.

"Gina, I'm not being paranoid I'm being alert." I growled from in-between my teeth.

"Whatever," she made a dismissive gesture with her hand and went towards the door, "Are you coming to work or not?"

This time it was my turn, "Whatever." I grabbed my sweater off the couch, tucked a gun into the holster on my ankle, a switchblade in my bra (with my cell phone) and a pocket knife on a holster under my arm.

"Paranoid!" Gina called from the doorway.

* * *

I slammed my palm into the steering wheel, effectively honking the horn. D_mn idiot cut me off! Muttering various curse words under my breath, I blew a piece of hair that had fallen into my face in the process of my quick brake. Glancing over at Gina, though, I had to laugh. Her face couldn't have been whiter if she had died. I almost had to check her pulse, but there was a steady movement in her neck as her heart raced. You couldn't really blame her. This was the fifth person to cut me off in the ten minute drive and the sixth to run a red light in front of me. Today was just the day of bad drivers. That or someone was trying to do me in.

* * *

"Why the hell do people keep on cutting us off! Stupid mother f_ckers don't know how to f_cking drive a car." Gina exclaimed on our way home from work, her hands now glued to the handle above the door.

"We're in Gotham; no one here knows how to drive." I replied.

"Hey I was born and raised here." I turned to Gina for a secondas I passed through the intersection, giving Gina a skeptical look.

And we all know how a second changes everything.

I sensed it before it happened. For one second I had let my guard down and it was the second that everything turned upsidedown. Gina's eyes widened into near saucers. "Tory!" But I had already whipped around. My foot slammed on the breaks, but it was too late

I remember it perfectly. The force as the black '09 Chevrolet Silverado Hybrid (I remember the exact car) t-boned my poor little "powder blue" Prius. The pain as the side of the door was shoved into my side. The sickening crack of my collar bone and lower ribs as the seat belt and door cracked them like twigs. Most importantly, Gina's earsplitting scream as the car flipped over once, twice, three times . . . at least that's as far as I counted before I passed out. The scream that let me know that I had failed. That I was a failure. That I had let her down. That no matter how hard I tried, neither of us were safe.


End file.
